Last man standing

It’s day 12 and I’m looking at the call sheet. Today, we’re shooting in and around the city centre all day with eight scenes to shoot and four location moves. We’ll be in the thick of all the shoppers again (arrrrgh) and in a shopping centre as well as shooting scenes on the street with Shaun Dunne (Vinny) prancing around in a white polyester John Travolta ‘Saturday Night Fever Suit.’ Great. I’m sure no-one will bat an eyelid at us or bother us for one nano second. I almost expect to turn the page to find that I’ll also be shooting with a horde of three year olds in a china shop and a rabid dog who runs amok in a packed train station. My throat feels dry, my head hurts and I haven’t even got out of bed yet. I wonder can I pull a sickie?

As industries go, the film business is not like the civil service or any government organisation or well, any other job really. People generally come into work if they’re sick, even of they’re really sick. It’s as though we feel we are indispensable and that the shooting day will not be achieved; that the whole thing will go belly up if we are not there and that people may even die because someone like me cannot be there to tell them to say their lines louder or to move an inch to their right. (Now you know what a director really does.) So, it’s not unusual to see a crewmember hobbling around on crutches crunching on horse tablet painkillers as they dress the set or a carpenter wandering around with a big bandage wrapped around his head from where he impaled himself on a nail the previous day. No one ever wants to appear to be the weak one.

I once worked on a job where a stunt man had to gallop a horse upstream against a raging river. The riverbed was completely covered in rocks any one of which could kill you if you even looked at it. Once the horse had accelerated to full throttle, someone then shot the stuntman who had to throw himself into the river. Although he appeared a pretty hardy chap I thought that the whole thing seemed a tad insane if not downright suicidal. After three takes of him crashing onto the rocks it was deemed the shot was got and the poor fella was helped away stunned and bloodied and as far as I could see, in immediate need of the last rites but no, as he was being stretchered away he was adamant (in between bouts of unconsciousness) that he was fine really and was happy to do it all again.

I did once pull a sickie and still wring my hands with remorse when I think about it. It was 1987 and I was a trainee assistant director on a commercial. I was to cycle to the producer and Director’s house for a lift to the studio and woke up late. I nearly puked and ran to the nearest phone box and called and told them that I had been knocked off my bike. They were hugely sympathetic and told me to take the day off. They even paid me for the day. I was totally wracked with guilt and haven’t quite got over it yet and every time I get on my bike, still expect to be punished for my actions by being crushed to a pulp by a bus .

Oh and there was the day I pulled a sickie on a shoot ‘cos I drank  a bottle of tequila the night before.

I didn’t feel very guilty about that one only because I was way too busy trying to die.

All of these thoughts bolster my nerve and I remember that should I feel weak or there be some unforeseen accident, our make up artist has been armed with a tub of Sudocream, a pack of Disprin and a selection of plasters.

The show will go on.